


Thanks, Sure

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2017 [50]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex, John is mostly straight, but sometimes, usually after highly stressful situations, he has this need to be fu**ed hard by someone. Ronon sort of accidentally becomes that someone."What it says on the tin.





	Thanks, Sure

The first time it happened, Ronon figured it was a one-time thing. Mission gone horribly wrong. Dorsey and his entire team - dead. When Major Lorne came skittering out of the command office, expression carefully blank, Ronon didn’t think much of it. Major Lorne was always in a hurry to do something far away, and everyone had seen John’s face as he’d come through the gate. He was furious. Of course Lorne would want to stay out of his way. Ronon had lost comrades in battle, but he’d never been an officer. He’d never felt responsible for their deaths the way John felt responsible for every single person lost from Atlantis.

But then Rodney came storming out of the military command office, flinging his hands in the air and cursing away in that other language he spoke, that wasn’t English. Ronon wondered if it was a scientist thing, to swear in other languages. Zelenka and Kusanagi did it. Maybe none of the soldiers did it because they were all American, and they all only spoke one language. Rodney didn’t handle frustration well, so if John was being surly, of course Rodney was frustrated. Ronon nodded at him briefly and then, since he was learning to be a teammate again, said,

“I think there’s brownies in the mess hall.”

Rodney, who’d started toward the labs, did an abrupt about-face and headed for the mess hall instead.

There. Ronon knew how to be nice to people. Being nice to people was a thing, once people were no longer constantly running for their lives.

But then Teyla came out of the military command office. She halted just outside the door and closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Centering herself, Ronon knew.

“Everything all right?” Ronon asked.

“Perhaps you will be able to talk some sense into John,” Teyla offered finally.

Ronon didn’t know if that was even his place, new to Atlantis and the team as he was. Not to mention John was an officer and Ronon was enlisted, was younger. But he initiated the door mechanism for the military command office -

And a feral John Sheppard was in his face.

Ronon didn’t think, just reacted.

Threat.

Neutralize it.

He had John pinned against the wall in less than a second.

And then he realized what he’d done, where he was, pressed against his commanding officer, staring down at him, chest heaving as adrenaline danced through his limbs.

His commanding officer was gazing up at him, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and he was _aroused_. Not just awake and alert, but turned on. Ronon could feel the heat and hardness of John’s erection through the fabric of John’s uniform, through his own combat leathers.

Ronon blinked, uncertain. “Sheppard?”

John’s eyes narrowed, and he pressed forward, not a come-on but aggression, to throw Ronon off, and Ronon responded with equal force and then some, slamming John back against the wall.

John’s cock twitched against Ronon’s thigh. Oh.

Ronon slid his hand down John’s arm to his wrist, pinned it against the wall, and John’s hips rocked forward.

“You like that?”

John nodded minutely. Usually his gaze lingered on attractive women, but -

Ronon knew this. Knew the need to get out of his own head when he was drowning in his own mind with grief, with rage. The need to not think, to not be, to let someone else take control. Usually he accomplished that with a vicious sparring match. No one on Atlantis save Teyla could give him the challenge he needed in his darkest moments.

And no one, he realized, could give John what he needed, John the senior military officer. Not Teyla, a woman, someone John’s culture demanded he protect and cosset. Not Rodney, someone John was supposed to protect, by SGC mandate and by social construct - Rodney the soft, vulnerable scientist, John the brave soldier.

Ronon, though, wasn’t really one of John’s subordinates, was staying on Atlantis because he wanted to. He was one of John’s teammates, a fellow soldier. He needed neither cosseting nor protecting.

John wanted to get out of his own head. Ronon could guide him.

He put a hand on John’s shoulder, kept him pinned against the wall, but took a step back.

“You sure about this?” Ronon asked.

In answer, John sank to his knees.

Damn. Sure, more than one soldier had fantasized about _sticking it_ to a superior officer. More than one person on Atlantis had dreamed about tumbling John Sheppard. Ronon had heard the comments, about his strong hands, his slender hips, his tight little ass, his smirky mouth being put to better use. Ronon had imagined, too. He was human, after all.

No human could look at John, on his knees, head tipped back, lips parted, and not be turned on.

Ronon inhaled, his breath hitching. “Are you _sure -?_ ”

John nodded and reached for the fastenings on Ronon’s pants, and then Ronon’s hot and aching length was exposed to the cool, recirculated air of the office before John swallowed him to the root. The head of Ronon’s cock hit the back of John’s throat, and John _hummed_ , and it had been so long since Ronon had been with another person.

He curved his hand along the back of John’s skull and thrust, and John moaned. Ronon’s hips jerked again. John grasped Ronon’s hips, fingers tightening, and Ronon couldn’t help it. He fisted a hand in John’s wild hair and fucked his mouth, slow at first, building speed as John moaned and hummed, spurring him on.

Ronon wasn’t going to last long, because John’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect, and he uttered a curse, a warning, he was going to come, should pull out, but John’s fingers at his hips dug in, and he swallowed, throat closing around Ronon’s cock, and Ronon came with a soft cry.

John swallowed it all down and, when Ronon was spent, finally released his grasp on Ronon’s hips, sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ronon stumbled back, caught himself against Lorne’s desk. John’s lips were plump and swollen, shiny, from where they’d just been _wrapped around Ronon’s dick_. Cursed stars, Ronon had just had sex with his teammate, his commanding officer. Another man. They were both going to get into so much trouble.

He should apologize, promise not to tell anyone.

What he said instead was, “Want me to do you?”

John winced, adjusted the front of his pants, shook his head, and Ronon realized. John had come in his pants. From Ronon fucking his mouth.

“Um, thanks.” Ronon fastened his trousers gingerly.

John said, voice hoarse, “No, thank you.” Then he pushed himself to his feet, smoothed down his uniform trousers with steady hands, smoothed down his shirt as well. And like that, he was Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard.

“Sure.” Ronon bolted out of John’s office.

He went to the gym to spar with some Marines, went to the shooting range to practice with their little metal projectile pistols. Energy was still buzzing through his veins, and he had to shake it off. Surely someone would notice, would realize what Ronon had done. But no one did.

Not Lorne, not Rodney, not Teyla.

*

John acted like nothing had happened, so - Ronon went with it. Sometimes people did strange things to let off steam. John, as the ranking officer, had a very stressful job. Ronon had helped out. He’d made a unique contribution to Atlantis beyond his combat skills.

But mostly he utilized his combat skills, went through the gate with John’s team, helped combat the Wraith. And life was good. Life was all right. Ronon was making friends, knew to spar with Teyla, to go running with Lorne, to ply Rodney with chocolate when he was upset.

And then they got captured by Aiden Ford and his band of crazy people. Ronon ended up somewhere he’d never wanted to be again - on a Wraith ship. Rodney nearly died from taking too much Wraith enzyme. And once again, John was being a terror. Not so much that Elizabeth would find out, instill discipline. But enough that Major Lorne was staying out of his way, hiding in the lab and offering to be a human lightswitch, enough that Teyla was in her room, surrounded by candles and doing lots of deep breathing.

Ronon dared to poke his head into John’s office.

John was sitting at his desk, staring at his laptop, chin in hand, the picture of insouciance but for the tension thrumming in every line of his body. He looked up as soon as Ronon entered, caught Ronon’s gaze, held it.

Ronon stepped all the way into the office, let the door hiss shut behind him.

There was another _beep_ , and Ronon realized John had thought the door locked. Okay. They were doing that thing again.

Ronon said, “On your knees.”

John obeyed without hesitation. Ronon crossed the office, unfastening his trousers as he went. He was already halfway hard by the time he reached John, who curled one hand at the base of his cock and began to lick and suck. John curled his other hand at Ronon’s hip, hanging on. Ronon’s cock hardened under John’s expert ministrations, and Ronon nudged his hips forward, questioning.

John nodded fractionally, opened his mouth wider, and swallowed Ronon to the root. Hot, wet, perfect, just like last time, Ronon with his fingers in John’s hair, one hand curled around his jaw, fucking his pretty, pretty mouth. John was moaning around Ronon’s cock, humming and groaning, and this was it, Ronon was going to come, was -

John pulled back, shook his head.

Icy shock washed over Ronon. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not enough,” John said, and he slammed his laptop shut, shoved it aside, was unfastening his pants even as he bent over his desk.

Ronon’s brain short-circuited. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Prep me and that won’t be a problem.”

“I - don’t know how.”

“I’ll talk you through it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Sheppard -”

“Ronon. Please.”

It was the _please_ that undid Ronon. He stepped up behind John. “Tell me what to do.”

John did in calm, gentle tones, like Ronon was the one being flattered and seduced, like Ronon was the vulnerable one. And maybe he was. But then John was open on his fingers, writhing and moaning and thrusting back against Ronon’s hand, and John said,

“Do it.”

Ronon, trembling with anticipation, eased himself into John’s body inch by inch.

“ _Please._ ”

Ronon grasped John’s hips, pulled back a little bit, thrust back in. Hot. Wet. Tight. Tighter and hotter and more perfect than John’s luscious mouth. John made a needy sound, and it sparked something in Ronon’s body, and he thrust again, longer, harder, a little faster. With every thrust, John moaned, and it spurred Ronon on. He loved that sound, wanted it a hundred times, a thousand times, a single unending note as Ronon fucked John hard, slamming into him over and over again. He went to fumble beneath John’s body, stroke his cock, but then John was coming, tightening all over, and Ronon tumbled after him, his orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave.

It took Ronon a moment to catch his breath, to push himself up on shaky arms so he wasn’t smothering John against the desk. He pulled out, and John handed him a wad of tissue to clean up. John cleaned himself up quickly and efficiently, was back in his perfectly-neat uniform before Ronon managed to do up his trousers.

“Thanks,” John said.

"Sure.” Ronon nodded, and just like last time, left the office.

*

The third time it happened, John had almost become an Iratus bug, and everyone on Atlantis was frazzled - by John running amok on the city in his half-transformed state, Colonel Caldwell trying to take over, Lorne losing half of his team.

Ronon stopped by John’s office and the door didn’t open, so he waited outside till it did, till Lorne stepped out, expression solemn, clutching two envelopes in hand. Letters to send to the families of his dead teammates. Of course John had written them, even though Lorne was their direct superior.

The door was barely closed and locked before John was standing against the wall, arms raised over his head, waiting to be restrained, to be taken. Ronon fucked him up against the wall, John’s legs around his waist, Ronon pinning John’s wrists over his head with one hand, grasping his hip with the other.

The fourth time, Ronon bent John over against the wall, John’s pants around his ankles, John bracing his forearms against the wall while Ronon clutched his hips and pounded into him from behind.

The fifth time, Ronon laid John on his back across his desk and stood between his wantonly spread legs.

The sixth time, Ronon sat in John’s chair and pulled John onto his lap, one hand up John’s shirt and across his chest to hold him in place (and play with his nipples), the other hand stroking John’s cock. When it was finished, John sank back against him, boneless and breathless and calm, centered once again.

It was like Teyla’s meditation, only way more fun.

*

“I am glad you and John are friends,” Teyla said. “You can get through to him when Rodney and I cannot.”

She, Rodney, and Ronon were sitting at their usual table in the mess hall, talking and smiling and sharing a large bowl of Major Lorne’s famous chocolate mousse.

“How do you do that, anyway?” Rodney asked.

Ronon shrugged. “We’re both soldiers.”

“Teyla’s a soldier,” Rodney said, frowning.

Teyla shook her head. “A warrior, yes. A soldier, no, not like Ronon and John.”

“What’s the difference?” Rodney asked. “You’re good at hitting things with your fists and otherwise.”

Ronon raised his eyebrows. “A lifetime of training?”

“Teyla’s been trained to fight her entire life.”

“But not in the same way, not with the same rules and formality and structure,” Teyla said.

“You’re very disciplined,” Rodney said.

Teyla inclined her head politely. “That I am. But there is enough of a difference between soldiers and warriors that Ronon can get through to John when I cannot, and I am glad for it. John has a heavy burden to bear, and if Ronon can be a friend to him, we should all be glad. Thank you, Ronon.”

Rodney eyed Ronon for a moment before said, “Yeah. Thanks, Ronon.”

 _Thanks_ was what John always said after Ronon got done fucking him. So Ronon did what he always did, shrugged and said, “Sure.”


End file.
